


You've Got Me Wonderin' Why...

by JerseyGirl324



Series: Bad Romance [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, Flogging, M/M, Oral Sex, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl324/pseuds/JerseyGirl324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor notices a change in the Master, and decides to take bold action to restructure the dynamics of their relationship...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Me Wonderin' Why...

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel/companion to "Bad Romance" and "BR: The Morning After"

Control. That’s what it’s always been about for the Master. He craves it, pursues it, thrives on it. The Doctor knows this implicitly; it’s the reason he allows the other Time Lord to control  _him_  in the context of their relationship. By providing an outlet for the Master’s domineering impulses, he hopes to deter his lover from taking over planets, decimating populations, and being a general public menace. Of course, there is much more to it than this. There’s another, less altruistic, reason why the Doctor submits—a reason he prefers not to dwell on. As much as he wants to deny it, he realizes that he submits because he _needs_ to; because sometimes, just sometimes, he needs to give up responsibility, stop trying to save everyone and everything, and simply let go.

But the most shameful reason for the Doctor’s submission is the one buried most deeply in his subconscious. _Sanctimonious_ , that’s what the Master once called him; the word still burns hot inside the Doctor’s mind, making him crave the punishment that only his fellow Time Lord can provide. The Master cleanses the Doctor, absolves him of the sin of betrayal—betrayal of their species. And so they remain together, the only two left in existence, and the only ones with the right to pass judgment on one another.

Lately, however, the Doctor has noticed cracks forming in the Master’s elegant veneer of control. During one of their more recent sexual exploits, he had witnessed the Master’s undeniable internal struggle, how he nearly came apart as the Doctor pleasured him, how he enjoyed being penetrated and filled, how he wanted to let go but couldn’t permit himself to actually go through with it. Since then, the Doctor has come to the realization that it’s time to reassert his own autonomy, and to show the Master the pleasures that can be found in occasional surrender. If he can accomplish this, then maybe, just _maybe_ , they can achieve a more balanced relationship.

One lazy afternoon, the two Time Lords are relaxing in the console room, enjoying a midday tea as the TARDIS floats serenely in the Vortex. The atmosphere is peaceful and, in the Doctor’s opinion, perfect for a friendly chat between two lovers.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins cheerfully, setting aside the book he’d been perusing. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to talk with you about something.”

“You’re always talking,” the Master replies sarcastically. “Even when I’m busy fucking you into the mattress. What is it this time?”

The Doctor ignores the snide remark and unabashedly continues. “Well, I want to tell you about a visit I once made to the planet Ganymede. It’s a beautiful place, with lush, colourful vegetation and sparkling turquoise oceans. I met a handsome native there, called Adonis…and he was _brilliant_ , the supreme leader of his tribe. Everyone respected him, worshipped him…”

“What _are_ you blithering on about?”

“Let me finish,” the Doctor sighs, desperate to get his point across. “You see, Adonis was a genius…but he suffered inside, suffered because he always had to be in control of everything. He didn’t know how to trust anyone else around him.”

“And what exactly are you implying, my sweet Doctor?” the Master sneers, gazing up and fixing his eyes menacingly on the other Time Lord.

The Doctor feels his courage failing him, but he heads for the big finish anyway. “I think that deep down you want to let go. I’m here, I can help you. Please let me try.”

“You’re being rather impertinent today,” the Master responds coolly, unusually flustered by the Doctor’s presumptuousness. “I think we must correct that. Strip to the waist and stay there until I come back.”

Without another word, the Master leaves the room. Before the Doctor is even consciously aware of it, his hands go to work on the buttons of his shirt; he’s grown so accustomed to obeying his partner’s orders, and is shocked to find himself half naked only moments later, with little awareness of how he got that way. The Master soon reappears, tapping his favourite leather riding crop into the palm of his hand, keeping a chilling tempo with the ever-present drumbeat. He approaches the Doctor tauntingly, surveying him with fiery, piercing eyes before issuing the familiar command.

“Kneel.”

“Master, please, I really don’t understand why this is necessary right now…” the Doctor protests, frantically trying to suppress his learned instinct to obey.

“I said _kneel_ ,” the Master orders again, voice callously authoritarian. “This will be much worse if I have to force you.”

Without retort, the Doctor sinks quietly to his knees. He’s ashamed of his inability to resist, ashamed of the need he can’t fully control. What has the Master done to him? What has he done to himself? He’s been fighting hard lately, but his conscious mind is still unable to override these baser desires. He knows, however, that in order to help them both, he must get stronger. But for now, in this moment, all he can think about is surrendering to the pain—surrendering to his Master.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Doctor, telling me what _I_ need.” The Master slowly, almost lovingly, caresses the other Time Lord with the crop, tracing the patterns of old welts and sending shivers through the Doctor’s flesh. Moments later, the implement whistles through the still air, producing a resounding _smack_ as it makes firm contact with its target. The Doctor cries out at the first sharp sting on his back, praying fervently that his submission will, at the very least, placate his partner.

The stinging blows continue, administered in an eerily restrained, deliberate manner. Perhaps the Master is trying to prove a point, trying to prove that his control isn’t weakening, that he can easily maintain it. The Doctor whimpers loudly at every stroke, losing himself in the experience, losing track of time, temporarily forgetting about his mission to restructure the dynamics of their relationship. It hurts, _god it hurts_ , but it’s a good kind of hurt, an almost addictive pain that the Doctor can’t bring himself to hate.

“That’s right, Doctor. I _know_ you like it…” The Master’s silky voice comes to him, reaches out to him through the haze, recovers him from the faraway place where his mind has taken refuge. The strokes become more intense, efficiently snapping the Doctor back into reality. After a few more sharp blows, the flogging comes to an end.

“Don’t ever presume to interfere in my business again,” the Master tells him curtly, effectively indicating that this particular session is not about sex, but rather about pure and simple discipline.

“Master…” the Doctor breathes. It’s a pleading tone, but pleading for what, he doesn’t know. His partner ignores him, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

After a few hours, the Doctor has fully recovered his senses, and is more determined than ever to stop the cycle of emotional anguish. He loves the Master; and he is certain that the Master loves him—albeit in a very maniacal and unorthodox way. Their intimate relationship certainly had pragmatic intentions: it was structured to provide a catharsis for both of them, but after months of the same routine, the Doctor has grown exhausted. And so, today, he finally decides to pounce.

Since they’ve been together, the Master has kept a fairly predictable schedule. He usually retires for an afternoon kip around the same time each day; and he invariably likes to sleep stark naked. The Doctor is expecting a fight for dominance, and hopes these factors will work to his advantage. When he feels certain that the Master is asleep, he sneaks quietly into the bedroom. Sure enough, the other Time Lord is passed out cold on the red silk sheets, not one thread of clothing covering his prostrate form.

The Doctor sits down carefully on the bed and watches his lover doze. The Master is beautiful this way, tranquil and relaxed, and he drinks in the rare sight with deep affection. Silently, he grabs the lube from the bedside table; he’ll be requiring it shortly. He takes a moment to steel himself—ignoring the pang of guilt he feels at taking advantage of the Master’s vulnerable state—then lowers his face into his partner’s lap, taking his cock between moist lips and gently beginning to suck.

The Master stirs ever-so-slightly at the ministrations, but doesn’t awaken. The Doctor continues working with the utmost tenderness, careful not to startle the slumbering Time Lord. It’s crucial that he do this delicately—otherwise he might not get a chance to finish the job. The Master’s cock is now beginning to harden in his mouth, and the Doctor proceeds to slick one of his fingers with lube before pressing it gently, cautiously into his lover’s body.

The Master lets out a soft moan, and his eyelids flutter open. Too dazed to suspect foul play, he offers no resistance as the Doctor continues to suck and probe, feeling the tight hole relaxing at his touch. He adds a second finger, stretching the ring of muscle and grazing the Master’s prostate, which produces a more alert whimper from his partner. The Doctor realizes that his fellow Time Lord is rapidly regaining awareness, and tries to continue in the most innocuous manner possible. He doesn’t want his true intentions to become too apparent.

Recognizing the vulnerability of his present position, the Doctor straightens up and focuses his efforts exclusively on preparing the Master’s puckered arse. A third finger slides in easily, and he knows that it won’t be long until his lover is ready. The battle, however, is still far from over.

“What are you doing?” the Master inquires blearily. He’s still drowsy, but the Doctor picks up the note of suspicion in his voice, and does his best to alleviate it.

“Just relax, Master. I’m doing this for you,” the Doctor soothes, deliberately stimulating his lover’s prostate with tantalizing pressure in the hope of distracting him.

It doesn’t work. Without warning, the Master lunges forward, grabbing the Doctor’s arms and skillfully pinning them behind his back. Growling furiously, he positions himself behind the other Time Lord and shoves his face into the pillows.

“Are you trying to _top_ me, you stupid little whore?” he hisses, grinding his erection purposefully against the Doctor’s arse. “I thought you knew better than to pull that on me.”

“Master, please, just _listen_ …”

“You’re such a coward, intentionally aiming to take advantage of me like that!” The Master reaches around and furiously begins to undo his partner’s belt and trousers. He’s determined not to let this infraction go unpunished, and fumbles manically for access to the taut orifice below.

The Doctor, thankful for the protection afforded by his clothing, senses a window of opportunity and pushes back with his full weight, overpowering the Master and miraculously managing to reverse their positions on the bed. His partner struggles frenetically beneath him, lithe body pulsating with uncontained rage. They are both sweaty and grunting, primal instincts dominating rational thought.

“How dare you!” the Master screams, infuriated beyond reason.

“ _Trust me_!” the Doctor hisses in reply, freeing his own erection and scrambling for the lube. He quickly manages to coat himself, grabs the Master’s hips firmly, and places the head of his cock in the cleft of his partner’s arse, pressing bluntly against the well-prepared entrance. The Master snarls wrathfully, employing every ounce of his wiry strength in a frantic effort to buck the Doctor off, but the other Time Lord remains steadfast, subduing him with adrenaline-fueled agility. It is quickly becoming clear that resistance is futile—he isn’t going to get out of this one.

Suddenly, the Master stills. He knows that he is utterly trapped, and decides to handle the situation with as much dignity as he can muster. “Go on then,” he taunts, pushing his hips back teasingly, daring the Doctor to make a move. “Do it.”

“I promise I’ll make it good for you,” the Doctor whispers consolingly, before beginning to push himself slowly into the Master’s body. His engorged cock breaches the sphincter with ease, and slides in smoothly to the hilt. He can feel the muscles relaxing, accommodating his full length and girth, and begins to thrust slowly, not wanting to hurt his recalcitrant lover.

“Is that all you’ve got, Doctor?” the Master leers, turning to gaze up at his partner with a look of devilish mischief in his eyes. “C’mon. _Fuck me_.”

“Surrender, Master,” the Doctor lulls, moving languidly in and out of the other Time Lord’s hot, velvet body. “Just relax…enjoy it…let go…” He squeezes his partner’s hips and begins to pump harder, angling his thrusts to hit the Master’s prostate and drawing gorgeous, contented moans in the process. His lover clenches beautifully around him, grasping his cock with tight, eager muscles.

The Master feels his defenses crumbling, knows he can’t hide beyond the thin veil of control for much longer; not when the Doctor is fucking him with such skill, such artfulness. Part of him is angry for allowing this to happen—but there is another part of him that is ecstatic, finally fulfilled. It’s as though he’s been unconsciously craving this, the way his body responds so naturally to the Doctor’s careful treatment. And so, for these few fleeting moments, the Master _submits_ , allows himself to have this, allows himself to enjoy it. Even the drums are quiet, banished by the overwhelming waves of sensation crashing over his body; and it’s the most peaceful he’s been in a long time.

“Mmmm, you feel so good,” the Doctor murmurs encouragingly, taking hold of the Master’s leaking cock and working it in a steady, impeccable rhythm. He can tell that his lover is close, and he wants to feel the final release, the final surrender.

“Come for me, Master,” he orders firmly, assured of success.

And, without hesitation, the Master obeys, crying out in ecstasy and spilling hot and sticky over his lover’s hand. Completely overjoyed, the Doctor continues to work furiously toward his own release, basking in the ethereal glow of the Master’s climax. It isn’t long before his pelvic muscles begin to spasm; he feels himself losing control, nerves tingling deliciously. He gives one final thrust, spearing deep into the Master’s body and emptying himself with a lusty, vehement moan. For several moments afterward, he remains blissfully sheathed in silky heat, listening to the animalistic sound of their mutual panting, the rapid beating of their hearts.

“I suppose I underestimated you, Doctor,” the Master comments deviously as they both collapse onto the damp, sweat-soaked sheets. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“See how good it feels to just let go every now and again?”

“I won’t deny it…but you know I’ll still have to punish you for this…”

“Of course, Master,” the Doctor acknowledges slyly, a knowing grin spreading wickedly across his flushed, glistening face. _Perfect. So perfect_ , he thinks dreamily.


End file.
